‘In the days before he took up the rulership of Macragge, Roboute Guilliman led a patrol along the Cothyr ridge, at the border with rival Illyria,’ Praxa­medes continued, paying the interruption no heed. He watched the asteroids getting closer. Navigational warnings flickered amber across the main display. ‘He was following an Illyrian raiding column that had crossed over and razed several settlements. The lord pri­march was only meant to locate them but as a heavy rain fell, he stumbled upon the Illyrians in the downpour.’

‘Entering navigational obstacle,’ reported the navigation officer.

Alarms sounded briefly, accompanied by warning red runes. There was muttering from several directions and disquieted gasps.

‘Silence!’ bellowed Exelloria. ‘Attend to your tasks! I hope you are right, brother,’ he continued across the command channel.

Praxa­medes switched the view to the vid-link from the prow, a realtime feed of the debris ahead. Red flares and streaks showed where the low-power navigational shields shunted aside the smaller asteroids. He felt a moment of release. It was too late to change course or power down. The instant of commitment had passed, but this time he had acted.

‘The Illyrians were a five-hundred-strong cavalry company, far outmatching even the lord pri­march,’ he continued, turning to face the crew. ‘As their camp roused at the intruders, revered Guilliman realised he could not outrun them, nor outfight them.’

Many of the crew were looking at the display, not him. Some shared worried glances, others were whispering among themselves. A glance at Exelloria showed that the Chaplain had also become fixed on the main display, the crew’s transgressions overlooked. Praxa­medes strode across to the gunnery terminals and made some adjustments, powering down most of the portside batteries to bolster the energy distribution to the starboard side and dorsal cannon.

‘Rather than trying to retreat back towards Macragge Civitas, he headed further into Illyrian territory. He knew that the foothills quickly gave way to a river delta marsh, much swelled by the recent rains.’

The main screen was almost full scarlet as the cruiser continued to bull its way through the chunks of rock and ice, the crackle of the fields now audible within the strategium, accompanied by the occasional clang and crunch of smaller pieces hitting the hull.

‘The Illyrians pressed on after him, confident of overwhelming the much fewer enemy, ignorant of the super-warrior that led them. But it was not the lord pri­march’s physique and skill that won that day but his intellect. The Illyrians’ horses were soon bogged down by the marsh, the riders stranded, and from out of the rain the lord pri­march counter-attacked. No more mobile than their foes, out of their element, the Illyrians were butchered. Only a third of them survived to flee back to their treacherous king.’

‘He changed the battlefield to one that equalised both sides,’ said Exelloria, finally turning from the large screen.